


lower me gently in the cold dark ground

by AuroraKant



Series: Whumptober2020 [12]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce Wayne Cries In This, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Gen, Hurt Jason Todd, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason Todd-centric, Look At Them Trying To Heal, Oxygen Masks, Secondary Drowning, They love each other, he tries, so many feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26990437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraKant/pseuds/AuroraKant
Summary: His lungs were burning, black spots dancing through his field of vision. It was… it was painful not being able to breathe. But at least there was no unhinged laughter in his ear, at least it wasn’t a crowbar and an explosion that killed him this time. Only Bruce's faint voice was audible:“Red Hood! Answer me! Where are you!”Or: Jason isn't ready to give Bruce any more reason to criticize him, so why should he tell the man who had once been his dad about his involuntary bath in Gotham Harbor?Day 13:Delayed Drowning| Chemical Pneumonia |Oxygen Mask
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Series: Whumptober2020 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948651
Comments: 34
Kudos: 484
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	lower me gently in the cold dark ground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Batbirdies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batbirdies/gifts).



> Hello and welcome back!  
> This one is for the amazing Batbirdies - a patented Jason Todd lover! I hope you enjoy it!  
> Special Shout Out to CKBookish as well - she betaed for me and assured me that I am a sweet, jam-filled donut! 
> 
> Comments, Kudos, Bookmarks and Feedback make me extremely happy!!! <3<3<3

Okay, so, maybe Jason was supposed to know better. Maybe, after seven years – give or take two – Jason should know which information was integral for the team leader to know. But, fuck it, Jason had already lost his helmet in a scuffle earlier that night and he wasn’t ready to get another disappointed glare from Bruce-man, because he had taken a dip in Gotham harbor.

It would be fine, anyways.

He would get back to his safehouse. Then he would take a hot and long shower, washing every last bit of dirt and slime from his body, before falling into his bed for a good six-hour rest.

There was no need to inform Bruce of the scratchy feeling in the back of his throat, or the tightness sitting on his chest.

Yeah, their relationship had mellowed out over the last few years, but there was still so much unaddressed hurt between the two of them, that Jason honestly doubted that they would ever be – whatever it was that they had been before. Jason wasn’t even sure if he wanted that.

He was twenty-three now – again give or take a year or two – and he would never move back in with Bruce or play happy family with the man ever again, no matter how many family-therapy sessions Dick forced them through.

And speaking of Dick – Jason could see Nightwing jump over the rooftop in front of him – Jason would never call him the nice one ever again. That ass had tricked him into doing this mission with Bruce. After all, and even outside of the capes and the cowls, Dick tended to reign with an iron fist over the relationship Bruce and Jason tried to rebuild.

Dick was a tyrant and Jason had sadly stopped killing them a year ago -- At least in Gotham.

“Batman to Team. Do you copy.”

Bruce’s voice echoed through Jason’s head, the earpiece still an annoying yet useful addition to Red Hood’s usual get up. Jason jumped over the gap between the two buildings in front of him, before taking cover behind a heating unit with perfect view of the Gotham Central Bank.

A few buildings further down, Jason could see Dick take a quite similar position, before the boy wonder’s voice came over the comm unit as well:

“Copy”

“Copy” Echoed Jason, his gaze fixed on the entrance of the building.

This was a three-vigilante job, and he hated that he got roped into it. He would repay Dick by being a silent ass, only speaking when it was absolutely necessary. If Dick had hoped that this little masked reunion between the three of them would lead to some emotional revelations, the man had thought wrong. Jason would make sure of that.

In silence they watched as absolutely nothing changed. The streets were Gotham-quiet, that meant Jason could hear at least one-person drunkenly yelling, and someone was currently ending a relationship rather loudly, but nothing moved in a suspicious or dangerous way. It was almost boring.

Or it would have been boring, if Jason couldn’t feel a steel-band tighten across his torso. A lesser man would have suspected witchcraft, but Jason had tangled with enough witches to know what magic felt like – and this was no magic. This was just his body slowly giving up. 

It wasn’t deadly yet, or even overly painful. But with each minute spent in silence, with each raspy breath smuggled past his scratchy throat, Jason had to struggle more to draw in a satisfying breath.

He had wanted a night of danger and excitement – maybe even family drama alla Othello, but instead he got Mathilde Göring’s husband, dying after taking a dip in the ice-cold lake. Jason couldn’t even remember the name of the fucker, but he would die just like him.

There was still no movement by the bank, and Jason was ready to call his predicament in. His breath kept hitching painfully, and some part of his brain wouldn’t stop screaming at him, telling him that he was about to die.

His hand was already on its way to the comm unit, when the thing came to life on its own. It was Batman’s voice that informed Nightwing and Red Hood:

“Movement on East Corner, Second Street.”

Fuck. That was just his luck, wasn’t it?

He could barely hear Nightwing’s voice over the comms. As Jason mentally prepared himself for a sprint, his body bemoaned that it was not ready at all. But then again, when had he ever been ready for the things life liked to throw at him?

“Copy – Moving in. Red Hood? Do you copy?”

No, he didn’t. But it would be embarrassing and weak to say that now. And it would cost them the operation. Jason might not have been involved in the planning of this shitshow, but he knew that cases like this could stretch months. And he knew it had to be important if Bruce was willing to call the Red Hood for help.

He didn’t sound like himself when he whispered:

“Red Hood – Copy.”

“Then let’s get this party started!”

Jason rolled his eyes –if he’d been close enough, he would have punched Dick, just to make sure his point got driven home. Instead, he only watched as Nightwing’s shadow vanished around a corner of the street.

He only needed to get his breathing under control and then he would be able to follow.

Just as second or two and everything would be alright.

As soon as they had apprehended the gun-swinging assholes who targeted the money of the weak, Jason would tell Dick-- who would tell Bruce-- that maybe Jason needed medical. But he could make it until then. He would have to make it until then.

He stepped over the edge of the apartment building, letting himself fall down towards street level, before he shot his grapple.

That was his mistake.

A ruck went through his entire body as the grapple connected with stone, stopping his wild decent into something controllable. Something controllable and extremely painful. No more air was entering his lungs, no more oxygen was being transferred into his blood stream.

A silent yell tore itself from his throat as the line went taut, and his body rebelled against the water that must have built up itself in his lungs. He almost dropped the gun – he almost dropped himself-- as a fire tore through his chest.

 _Air_!

He needed air!

Bruce voice sounded distant when he yelled in Jason’s ear:

“Red Hood! Do you Copy! Answer me! Red Hood, what is your status?”

Jason couldn’t answer – he could do rather little, the corners of his vision starting to bleed black. Instead he let the grapple carry him to the other side of the street, throwing his body against the wall of the building.

No, not wall. Window.

His shoulder connected with something hard, only to break through the glass not even seconds later. The contact had taken the worst of the force from his fall, and yet pain reverberated through his skull, when his head connected with the carpeted floor.

His lungs were burning, black spots dancing through his field of vision. It was… it was painful not being able to breathe. But at least there was no unhinged laughter in his ear, at least it wasn’t a crowbar and an explosion that killed him this time. No, it was only Bruce's faint voice that kept him company; 

“Red Hood! Answer me! Where are you!”

Could he answer? His hand struggled to reach his comm unit, his head pounding too badly for him to be able to tell whether or not he had managed to activate it. It felt as if he was giving up his last bit of air when he breathed:

“Me…medical”

He let his hand fall down, and his eyes closed. It wasn’t worth it to try and remain conscious. Jason knew what waited for him on the other side – he only hoped that he was allowed to stay this time. It hadn’t been fun to dig himself out of his own grave and he would rather not repeat the experience.

He would rather do anything but come back a second time just to be faced with the reality of Bruce Wayne’s disappointment – or worse his grief – once more.

Except… this time there was no one to blame but Jason Todd’s own stupidity and pride. Some might even argue that’s what killed him the first time ‘round as well.

“Red Hood! Jason!”

He let the darkness claim him. They were old friends after all.

There was a persistent beeping tickling his ear, and Jason didn’t like it.

It was annoying, and grating – especially with the headache he was nursing.

A headache? Jason forced his eyes open, only to be greeted by the med bay of the Cave, a place that was full of memories good and bad. Jason tended to get nauseous if he spent any amount of time down here. Even now, when Alfred invited him to Sunday brunch and Dick crashed his sleepovers – the Cave felt both like his home and his prison whenever he visited. A part of him craved the comfort he had once taken here, and another – perhaps louder – part of him felt it was a tomb, keeping him in a time long dead.

But why was he even… he tried to sit up, latent panic cursing through his body, but something stopped him. No. Many things stopped him.

For one Bruce Fucking Wayne was sleeping face down on Jason’s leg, his giant body folded in one of these hilariously uncomfortable bedside chairs. The second thing keeping him down was the IV in the crook of his elbow, and the electrodes on his chest keeping his vitals in check.

The last thing that made Jason think that it would maybe be a good idea to remain where he was, was the oxygen mask securely placed above his mouth and nose. Now that he was awake, he could feel the itching sensation where plastic met skin, but he could also feel the way the mask pushed sweet, sweet air down his abused lungs.

That was something Jason hated about waking up after an injury.

The first few seconds were bliss, you were disoriented and maybe scared, but your body hadn’t yet managed to send you the various pain messages.

Sadly, Jason had left those blessed moments behind, his entire chest was suddenly a burning fire of breathlessness and bruises. Not even the cool oxygen from the mask could sooth the way his lungs screamed “More! More! More!” completely.

_Ah._

Secondary Drowning.

Fluid built-up in the lungs after inhaling water – often, if not always leading to bad cases of pneumonia. Jason had taken a dip in Gotham Harbor; he didn’t even want to think about the horrors that lived down there. He was sure to develop a pneumonia, if the fever hadn’t already started to wreck its havoc.

Oh, that would be fun.

Breathing was already hard enough, but once all the other shit hit, there was no way Jason would be able to argue his way out of the Manor. He would probably be too beat to try to do so anyways.

Nah, he would be dead to the world, suffering through one round of antibiotics after the other, while Alfred spoon fed him chicken soup and Bruce tried his best not to meet his eyes.

It was going to be great.

Sadly, Jason’s sardonic grin ended in a coughing fit, making the oxygen mask useless, and filling his eyes with hot tears.

He closed his eyes, willing the tears to stop and the cough to die down. His ribs ached with every failed attempt to push _something_ out of his trachea. Jason was really not vibing with the way his entire soul felt miserable as he sucked in breath after breath in a desperate search for air, only to end up with another painful cough instead.

Suddenly warm hands were helping him sit up, one of them keeping him upright, the other rubbing soothing circles into his back.

Bruce.

He must have woken up when Jason decided that coughing his lung up would be a fun way to spend his time.

The elevated position helped somewhat, oxygen slowly reentering his bloodstream after what felt like an eternity. For a moment Jason toyed with the idea of pretending to be asleep, to deal with Bruce at a different point in time, but the man in question had never been good when it came to waiting:

“Jason, I know that you are awake.”

“Ah, well fuck you, old man.” Jason said. Or at least that’s what he wanted to say, but his throat protested every attempt at speaking. Instead, he just croaked pitifully. Now he _had_ to open his eyes, if only to glare balefully in Bruce’s direction, so the man knew that Jason wasn’t as weak as he sounded.

Bruce looked tired, when Jason finally managed to focus his still teary eyes on him.

Tired and old beyond his years.

“Don’t try to speak. Alfred said that you should only use your mouth for breathing and swallowing down tea and soup for the time being.”

Jason sent another hateful look into Bruce’s direction. So, he was silent and tied down – this must be Bruce’s dream, finally having the Red Hood where he wanted him. Weak and scared and unable to run.

“I… I am glad that you are alive.”

Jason tried to send a very deliberate “Well, duh” into Bruce’s direction, but the man was not even looking at him. No, Bruce was watching the monitors, having once again taken a seat in the chair of doom.

“I… you could have told me something had happened. Did you fall into the harbor? Was that it? Your suit's vitals recorder showed you were suddenly in the 5-0 degrees range for about ten minutes. So, either you ran into Mr. Fries or you went swimming. Correct? ”

 _Now_ Bruce had turned his face towards Jason. Now, when it was once again about Jason’s guilt, his many faults. Jason only scowled. He was sick of this – he was also, quite literally, sick.

He tried to avert his gaze, to have Bruce taste the same medicine Jason was forced to swallow every time Bruce deliberately didn’t look at him, but the oxygen mask was too bulky for him to turn away. But that didn’t mean that Bruce hadn’t seen what Jason had been planning and… and something complicated happened in the face Jason had been able to read fluently once upon a time.

“Jason… I am sorry. I didn’t mean… this wasn’t an attack on your person, it was merely a question.”

“Sure.” Jason mouthed, his lips dry, his throat aching, even though Jason hadn’t even tried to speak.

He hoped the sarcasm conveyed anyways.

“No, I mean it Jason. I… I am sorry.”

“For what?”

Maybe that was why it had irked him so much when Bruce had averted his eyes earlier: All of them could read lips, all of them knew what the other was saying, even if they had been robbed one of their senses, even if their voice was gone.

“I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me that you were hurt, and that’s dangerous out in the field—for both of us.”

Of course, Bruce would always focus on the mission first. It didn’t matter that Jason had almost died; it didn’t matter that his chest felt as if it had been cut open. No, all that mattered was that Jason had endangered the mission.

Jason was almost ready to break the Alfred-assigned vow of silence, just to yell Fuck You, when Bruce continued to speak:

"And it is painful for me as a father. I worry for you and your siblings. And when you don’t tell me when you get hurt, I worry even more. Because I… I can’t do anything to help you, if I don’t know that you need my help."

Something weird was happening to Jason’s throat, and for once he was sure it wasn’t the pneumonia kicking is ass.

“Jason… Jay-lad… I was… We reached your location and you weren’t breathing. Your lips were turning blue, and your pulse was… was fading. I almost lost you tonight, Jason. I almost lost you – and I never want to lose you ever again.”

He must be hallucinating or the drugs running rampage through his body were turning him crazy, but… but Jason watched as a single tear ran down Bruce’s cheek, catching in the wrinkles that spoke of a body aged beyond its years.

His hand twitched – the traitor – betraying his urge to sooth Bruce, one left from days long past, from days where Jason had still smiled freely, and Bruce had been his dad. Sometimes he missed those days, today it broke his heart.

“St-op… cry-ing, old… man.”

It hurt like a bitch and it burned like bad whiskey, but Jason forced the words out, some part of him still longing for that fatherly touch Bruce had been so free to offer when Jason had been young. When Jason Peter Todd had still been Bruce Wayne’s son.

Bruce didn’t seem to hear him, or maybe he had but couldn’t follow the advice, whatever was the case, more tears joined the first running down Bruce’s face.

There was something soft in the older man’s eyes. Jason felt his heart lurch. Even after everything, some corner of his soul would always call the man with _that_ face dad, even when he didn’t want to.

“I’m not strong enough to bury you a second time, Jason. No father is. And… and I am not saying that… that you have to forgive me, or suddenly love me again, but… please, I am begging you, tell me when you’re hurt. Tell me when you need me.”

_I always need you. I always love you – which makes everything hurt so much worse_

But that was a truth neither of them was ready for, so Jason only nodded. His vision was growing blurry, moisture pooling in his eyes. The oxygen mask must be irritating his eyes – there was no other explanation.

Bruce’s hand was warm where it clutched Jason’s. The rough skin felt more real in the sterile room, caught between antiseptic and the hiss of the oxygen tank, than his own emotions. Jason would deny it later, but there was no place he would rather be.

He was still holding onto his dad when sleep and fever dragged him down under, when darkness claimed him once more. Only this time it was safe. Only this time he wasn’t alone.


End file.
